Stuck in the Dark
by Carlet
Summary: They've been through so much: wicked witches, snow monsters, time travel-and now Emma and Killian have their chance for a happy ending and a normal life together. But will various insecurities, secrets, and trust issues put a stop to everything they worked so hard to create?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Kind of missed writing CS fanfics, so decided to start playing around with an idea I've had in my head for ages. Because carpe diem right?**

 **Takes place after season 4, except without the whole Emma becoming the Dark One thing.**

Chapter 1

 _Just twenty feet more, and then my boots are coming off, my jeans tossed onto the bed, hair up in a sloppy ponytail._ Emma could already feel her terribly worn yet soft sweats against her legs, and the warmth of the blanket she was going to throw over herself, as well as the delicious, cheesy first bite of the pizza Killian had known to order early. _Just twenty feet more, and it will be the beginning of my Friday evening._

She inserted her key into the lock and turned it, throwing it onto the table by the door as she slammed the door behind her. "Killian?" A simple sniff told her that the pizza had not yet arrived. "I hope you made sure to order extra cheese," Emma said as she made her way into their bedroom. "because last time they forgot and-"

Her words stopped midway through their journey out of her mouth as she paused in the doorway. "…and, and…it was a real travesty. What's going on here?"

Killian stood with his back to her, his shadow blocking the framed watercolor of the Jolly Roger in front of him, as he rifled through the dresser, examining a shirt before tossing it into the open duffel on the bed, saying nothing as he did so.

"Going somewhere?" Emma watched as he repeated his previous action three more times. When there was no response, she snapped her fingers loudly. "Hello? Earth to Killian. What are you doing?"

"Packing" Was the brusque response she received before he shoved the drawer shut and opened another, this time piling pairs of socks into his arms.

"Yeah, I kind of got that. Care to tell me why?"

Her words were unnecessary; his next silence reaffirmed her theory, causing her growling stomach to slowly quiet, the hunger being replaced with something akin to dread. _"No._ " She choked. "No. _No._ "

Killian slammed his sock drawer shut and zipped his duffel. "I'm sorry." His eyes met hers for the first time as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

Emma opened and closed her mouth several times, bits and pieces of various thoughts swirling about her mind before she said the word that stuck out most prominently amongst the chaos. " _Why?_ "

That word, too, was superfluous, as she already knew.

It seemed that he was aware of this fact as well, as he simply smiled sadly before his long legs started to carry him past her, down the hallway, and towards the front door.

She remained immobile, following him on his journey out of their room (and subsequently out of her life). "Please. Don't do this."

Killian shot her a look of commiseration. "I'm sorry." He repeated.

The door opened and closed with a click, and then he was gone.

* * *

With a sharp intake of air, her eyes flew open, meeting the white wood of the table beside her bed. Took in the watercolor of the Jolly Roger that she'd hung up above the dresser, and she squinted against the glare of the sun coming off the painting. The same painting, only this time shadowed by a head of dark hair, flashed before her eyes, and she suddenly became aware of the muscled arm that was flung over her middle in an embrace.

 _A dream._ She thought as something akin to relief flowed through her, strong and sweet. _It hadn't been real._

But it hadn't been _just_ a dream either-more like _the_ dream.

"Mmm." A low voice rumbled into her ear, a nose nuzzling against her hair.

Emma turned around to face him, wonder washing over her as it did every time she laid eyes upon the pirate. _Her_ pirate. Even moments after waking, with sleep crusted eyes and wrinkles from the pillow, he still managed to look too gorgeous for words (although she would never admit that allowed, not even under duress). "Morning."

"Morning, Swan." He responded, smiling lazily. "What're you doing awake at this hour?"

She shrugged. "Just woke up early."

"Well, then. I suppose we shouldn't waste any time. Bad form and all."

"Yes, I suppose so." _What was I so worried about?_ Emma thought as he leaned forward to kiss her, their bodies melting together perfectly.

A loud buzzing on the nightstand caused him to open his eyes and groan loudly. "Not that bloody contraption again."

"Do you have to get that?"

He pulled away and sighed. "Aye, you know just as well as I do that if I don't, your father will come storming in here like an ogre."

"Or maybe you just want to talk to him." Emma teased, rolling her eyes as she flopped back onto her pillow, listening to the way his accented voice spoke into the phone, transforming the simplest of words into music.

He hung up the phone minutes later. "Dave wants me over at their place."

"Now?" She glanced at the clock. "It's only 7."

"Your point?"

"It's 7." Emma repeated. "Practically the ass crack of dawn."

"Not for everyone else. 7 is a perfectly acceptable hour."

"What does he even want?"

"Something to do with tuxes…oh, I don't bloody know." Killian responded as he began to make his way to the door. "I'll bet your mother had something to do about his early morning call."

Almost as if someone had turned a knob to dramatically shift the light in the room, a hard, sour knot appeared in the pit of her stomach at the mention of _tuxes._

Killian paused, his hand on the doorknob, an eyebrow raised. "But don't worry. I'll hurry back, and we can finish-"

But her desire had all but disappeared."Maybe." Emma said absently. She listened for the telltale squeak and groan of the pipes that signaled the shower turning on before swinging her legs out of bed and crossing the room to where his jacket was flung over a chair.

Just as it had been there yesterday, the day before that, and so on, the folded napkin remained in the inner pocket of Killian's jacket, almost as if waiting for Emma to find. The now very familiar napkin unfurled itself in her hand as she laid it out on the unmade bed.

 _4/12_

 _4/19_

 _4/26_

 _5/3_

And it went on like this, stopping on 5/16, the day after tomorrow and the only day that deviated from the pattern.

Her wedding day.

Below the list of dates was simply the initials _A.W.,_ followed by a phone number.

Who "A.W." was, she had no idea. She'd been tempted to call this mysterious A.W. many, many times, going as far as to push talk before hanging up the phone. She would _not_ become that person, the jealous and obsessive archetypal girlfriend. She wanted, no she _needed_ to know, oh she did. She wanted also to trust him, believe in someone she'd grown so comfortable with, finally letting go. He'd been that person for her for so long she was surely reading too much into this.

But the evidence suggested otherwise.

The first couple times, three days after she'd found the napkin, had seemed like a coincidence. Twice did not a pattern make. Three certainly did, however. On the third week, 4/26, she'd very nearly asked him what in the bloody hell (as he would've put it) he did every Sunday afternoon.

" _Oh, I went for a drink with your father and Robin." He'd said, when she knew very well that Robin and Regina had taken Roland to feed the ducks. They'd extended the invitation to Henry, who'd declined in favor of spending time with his friend ("just a friend, Mom") Grace._

 _Another time, he'd regaled her with tales of helping Leroy fix his ship. But she'd walked by the docks that day, and they'd been nowhere in sight._

Did he really think she wouldn't find out? He didn't seem to know that she knew, though. Or maybe he did, and just didn't care because….well, it was a thought she did not prefer to dwell on.

He was hiding something (again), that much was certain. But did she want to know what it was, allowing how far she'd come to just disappear?

 **Author's note: Well, well, well. What's Killian hiding?**

 **What did y'all think? Comments, anyone?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Thanks for all the reviews!**

 **Finally achieving my dream of going to see them film OUAT in Steveston aka Storybrooke tomorrow. Hope I get to take lots of cool pics and, if I'm REALLY lucky, maybe meet one of the cast (which prob won't happen).**

Chapter 2

 _Six months earlier:_

 _Over the past 30 years, Emma had lived in more places than she could bother to remember or count. There was her first home, with the people who'd adopted her before giving her back when they had their own child, and then the group home after that, more foster homes, more group homes, Ingrid's house sometime in that mess, and then dozens of hotel rooms with Neal (although that might not count), followed by prison, her apartment after that, and Boston, and eventually Storybrooke._

 _But out of all those, her new house was her favorite. It was a simple two bedroom by the beach, overlooking the water so that most days she awoke and fell asleep to the sounds of waves crashing against the shore. "Your very own sound machine", the realtor (she couldn't believe Storybrooke had one) had declared in the listing. Not that she and Henry had needed much persuasion for this house; the second she caught sight of it while driving to see it, they'd fallen in love._

 _Never before had she lived somewhere with sunlight streaming in through huge floor to ceiling windows, casting a beautiful glow on everything in sight. Never before had she picked out her very own furniture (crappy rentals for previous crappy apartments not counting). And never before had somewhere felt more like home._

 _She considered the Jolly Roger to be just an extension of it. As did her stuff, apparently._

" _What I fail to comprehend," Killian said as he sifted through the pile of random objects sitting atop his desk, "is why you insist on scattering your belongings in such a fashion."_

" _It's not_ that _much," Emma countered, gesturing at her phone charger, a random tube of chapstick, and an old granola bar wrapper. "You should see my office."_

" _Oh, I have." Killian reached blindly for a handful of what he considered "debris". "Even as a pirate, I have always prided myself on keeping my ship in top condition. And that includes cleanliness."_

 _She stepped in front of the desk, blocking it from his view. "Don't be such a baby." Her hands reached down and grabbed his._

" _I see what you're trying to do, Swan," he started, attempting to reach around her so that he could continue cleaning. "and it's…not….going to…"_

 _Emma smiled triumphantly as he acquiesced, his gaze falling on hers._

"… _work." He finished, lips coming down to meet hers._

" _Besides." She said, pulling away. "Maybe my stuff wouldn't be everywhere if you cleared out another drawer or something."_

 _The second the words left her lips, she could tell right away that something had shifted, his eyes darkening ever so slightly._

" _What? What's the matter?"_

" _Nothing." He replied. But he looked away and to the left._

 _Her bail bonds skills kicked into action, and her eyes narrowed. "Something's wrong. Tell me."_

 _He hesitated, sighing quietly, but loud enough for her to catch. "Nothing, Swan."_

" _You know you can't lie to me, right?"_

 _His hand immediately came up to scratch the spot behind his ear, vigorously abusing the poor skin as he clambered for a response. "I-it's just what you said earlier. About a drawer."_

 _Emma chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Don't worry, I was just kidding. I know how sentimental you can be."_

 _Something told her that wasn't it, though._

" _That's not it," He started, therefore confirming her hunch. "I, well," and there went the hand to his ear as he stammered. "when you mentioned a drawer, it got me thinking."_

" _About?' Emma prompted._

" _About how I don't have one." He finished awkwardly. "A drawer, I meant."_

 _Emma felt as though someone had dropped an ice cube down her back. "Oh."_

 _And now it was her turn to become the taciturn one as he continued to speak. "Why, though?"_

 _She ran her fingers along the edge of his desk, idly tracing the design etched into the wood. "Why what?"_

" _Why don't I have a drawer at your place? I mean," He hurriedly rambled on. "I don't require a large amount of space as you clearly do. And I know you share your home with your lad, and I would never ask either of you to give any of that up for me. But while I have provided a storage space for you, you have yet to do the same for me."_

 _I wonder how one would write while the ship's moving. I mean, it's got to be pretty violent with the waves and whatnot, Emma thought to herself. Anything in an attempt to keep from answering his question._

 _She felt his hand on her shoulder. "Emma?"_

 _Her head snapped up. "What?"_

" _Did you hear me?"_

" _Mmm…"_

" _I realize this may be a difficult subject-"_

" _Why would you think that?" She snapped._

" _Your silence and lack of eye contact suggest-"_

" _Yeah, yeah I got that." Emma interrupted. "And I'm perfectly fine."_

" _Never said you weren't." Killian responded smoothly. "So about the drawer…"_

" _Look, I just haven't really had the time to move stuff around. With work and handling everyone's crises and Henry and babysitting? Cleaning hasn't really been a priority."_

" _I understand. Consider it not cleaning, then."_

" _I'm sorry. I want to give you some space, really I do. But I've just been busy."_

" _If that's the case then." He muttered._

" _What's that supposed to mean?"_

" _Nothing."_

" _No, tell me." Emma said firmly. "If you have something to say, say it."_

" _Fine. It's just that it sounds quite like a bloody excuse to me."_

"What?" _She breathed. "You're kidding."_

" _Look at this." He gestured with his hook to first his desk, then the shelves, and finally the floor. "Your things are everywhere. Not that I mind." He added hurriedly. "But I can no longer step inside my own quarters without tripping over your possessions. But at your place? I cannot recall the last time I left a single one of my things there."_

" _Not true. Pretty sure your phone charger is still on my kitchen counter."_

 _He shot her a look. "I spend nearly half of every week at your home, yet every time I have to bring my own clothing. I still knock on the bloody door before entering, whereas you let yourself in whenever you please."_

 _Emma crossed her arms over her chest, feeling herself begin to stand in her typical "defensive" pose. "So what are you saying then? You want me to clean my stuff up? Fine, I will." She turned and roughly grabbed the first item she could find, which happened to be a notebook that did not belong to her. Tossing it carelessly aside, she snatched up an empty water bottle and a scarf she did not remember leaving behind._

" _Emma." He grabbed her arm. "Stop."_

" _Why? This is what you want, isn't it? For me to get my_ crap _out of your precious ship?"_

" _No, that's not-"_

" _God, Killian!" She hissed, keeping her face turned away from him. If she looked at him she would start to cry. And Emma Swan did not cry. Especially not during a fight. "What the hell do you want then?"_

" _For you to slow down and listen. And tell me the truth."_

" _I did!"_

" _Open book, remember? Do you not want me at your place? Is that it?"_

 _Emma didn't answer, though she did pause in her rapid cleaning._

" _If I have done something wrong, I am truly sorry. But I believe I deserve to know."_

" _I told you." She said through gritted teeth. "I've just been busy. I have a lot of stuff."_

" _I don't require too much room. Perhaps a small corner would do."_

" _Ok. Message received. I'll go and clean up now."_

" _I didn't mean right away. I just wanted to know why-"_

" _It doesn't matter. You want a drawer, I'll give you a drawer." Emma turned around and started towards the ladder._

" _Where are you going?"_

" _To go and give you a damn drawer! Isn't that what you want?"_

" _Yes, but not if you're not going to be happy."_

 _She snorted, her expression hard. "Nothing's ever going to be good enough for you, is it?" And like a spider crawling up the wall, she scurried up the ladder and was out of sight._

" _Emma!" He called as he listened to her heavy footsteps on the deck above fade away. "Swan!"_

 _But she was gone._

 _Killian sank down on his bed, reaching absentmindly for his flask at his side. He'd known that this would be a sore subject, that nothing about being with her was easy. And he'd been prepared to deal with that, had been handling it rather nicely (in his opinion)._

 _But this time, he was truly at a loss._

* * *

Killian wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder briefly, and pressed a kiss atop her head in the same way she'd kiss her brother. "Lunch at Granny's? Perhaps some of those onion rings you love so much?"

The idea of lunch made Emma's stomach clench; even her topmost favorite foods sounded most unappealing at the moment. She nodded tightly, lips pressed together.

He shrugged on his jacket. "I love you."

Although they'd been saying it to each other for months now, every time he spoke those three words he said them with the intensity and seriousness with which he'd first uttered them.

"Love you too." Emma replied. For a moment, as she took in his familiar gaze ( _"Why are you looking at me like that?" "Because you're beautiful, Swan"_ ), she felt much calmer.

It was him. Killian. She knew him. She could trust him.

"I'll see you later."

 _What are you planning?_ Emma bore her eyes into his, hoping against hope to find something, anything in the brilliant blue orbs she'd grown to allow herself to get lost him. But they held nothing, no traces of deceit or malice.

Perhaps this was her version of cold feet, her reading too much into nothing.

 _Neal showed no signs either_ a voice reminded her, and thus the stomach churning nausea came rushing back.

* * *

"Hey Dad." Emma bent down low, sliding forward so that only the top of her beanie would be visible if anyone happened to look at her car.

A yellow bug was probably not the best vehicle for these kinds of purposes, but she was nothing if not sentimental, even when it was like pouring salt on an open wound.

"Emma!" Surprise was laced in his voice as he spoke. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Well, it _is_ a Thursday. You should see the line at Granny's."

"You're Emma Swan. You don't believe in being up before 8. Preferably 9." He reminded her.

"True. I could say the same for you. It's your day off, isn't it?"

"Eh, well your mother said something about some tux emergency."

"Oh, right. Killian mentioned the same thing before leaving. What's the emergency?"

"Not sure." He responded. "We're trying to figure it out right now."

"Yeah?" She fought to keep her voice casual as she craned her neck to see into the open window of her parents' apartment. "Both of you?"

Inside the apartment, she could see David sitting at the kitchen table, phone pressed to his ear as he sipped a cup of coffee. He was still in his pajamas, looking as relaxed as could be.

Killian was nowhere in sight.

"Mmmhm." David murmured.

"So what're you guys doing right now?"

"He's trying to figure out how what's exactly so wrong with the cumber bund that caused your mother to freak out so badly."

"Sounds fun."

"Though I think we'd better ask someone with some expertise."

"Right. Hey listen, can you put Killian on for a moment? I think he grabbed my wallet on accident."

"Um," David paused for a moment. "He's kind of in the middle of something. Tell you what. I'll ask him for you."

 _Unbelievable!_

"All right, you do that." Emma muttered, barely keeping her voice even. "Gotta go." She tossed her phone into the backseat, hands shaking so badly she wasn't sure she should drive.

Her father, her own father, lied to her face. Or rather, her ear. Killian had said something about tuxes too. Whatever it was, David was in on it.

What the hell was going on?

 **Author's note: Hmm. If David is in on it too, what can Killian be up to? Guesses?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: First I updated my other story, and now this one. Guess I'm on a roll this week...**

Chapter 3

Emma was halfway to the station when she spotted his car. It was heading in the exact opposite direction from her parents' apartments, thereby extinguishing any hope she had left that Killian had not been lying.

Before she could second guess herself, she was turning her car around, the tires squealing as she wove expertly into the line of cars heading in the opposite direction. She kept her eyes narrowed on the back of his car, the black standing starkly out against the sunny morning, irony that was not lost on her.

 _Just another perp. I am just tailing another random perp._

He took a right and drove further down the road, never stopping to check his rearview mirror. When she'd first taught him to drive, he'd been aghast at the notion of needing to watch out for other drivers.

" _But Swan!" He'd protested. "A good captain should have full command of the seas before him."_

" _Not when this so called captain shares the road with about a hundred other drivers."_

Emma smiled briefly at the memory, the sun peeking out from behind a line of dark clouds, before she was reminded of what exactly she was doing and why.

The laughter they'd shared filled her mind for a moment.

 _What happened with us?_

She barely noticed that he was pulling into the parking lot of the inn portion of Granny's, barely stopping her car before she would've barreled into his. Granny's? What was he doing there? Although he'd stayed in a room there previously, he'd moved back into the Jolly Roger soon after Ursula retrieved his ship.

Emma knew what a secret rendezvous at a motel meant, of course. But while her eyes drank in the sight of him exiting his car and pulling open the door to the inn, her mind refused to reach the same level of comprehension, stalling in the mud as she stared, hard, at the sight unfolding before her.

* * *

Killian hated what he was doing.

Lying to her, that is. He hated that he had to create such ridiculous stories, ones he knew were rather insulting, as Emma Swan was nothing if not smart.

He tried to tell himself that it would be worth it, that once he saw the look on her face, all of the lies and the sneaking around and the mysterious phone calls would instantly become very clear.

But a small, niggling voice inside reminded him with each passing second that things could go very, very wrong, as they had before.

 _He couldn't just sit around on his ship, where all he could see, all he could hear, was Emma's angry voice, her hurt expression, and finally the way she'd left in a hurry, her heavy footsteps echoing on the deck above. No, he needed to leave, find someplace else to decompress and plan his next move._

 _So he found himself in the library, with only a vague, rum tainted idea of how he'd ended up there. The long stacks of books that loomed before him as he sat against the wall, sipping from his flask some more, seemed to calm him. All those books, they represented years upon years, centuries upon centuries, of lives, histories, and stories that had existed. He was but a small blip on that scale._

 _Gazing on the shelves, he had the strangest thought that compared to everything that these books stood for, his fight with Emma was nothing. Surely he could deal with that._

 _But it_ wasn't _nothing. Emma was everything to him, and he was at an utter loss._

 _Footsteps, light and far different from Emma's angry ones, sounded on the floor, and suddenly the lights flickered on._

" _Oy!" He protested, automatically covering his eyes with his arm. "Turn the bloody lights off."_

 _Belle clucked her tongue. "I thought I saw you come in here."_

" _Yes, well, it isn't illegal."_

" _No." She agreed. "But you looked like you had something on your mind, so I followed you in here."_

" _I'm fine." He said. "Just needed a quiet place to enjoy my rum."_

" _Really, is that all?" She teased lightly, crouching down next to him. "Is everything alright?"_

" _Of course." He responded. "Don't I look as devishly handsome as always?"_

" _Not sure how to answer that, but I'll tell you this. You look like you could use someone to talk to."_

" _I don't."_

 _Belle studied his face for a long moment. "Trouble with Emma?"_

" _Aren't you quite perceptive." He said, irritated._

 _She shot him a sympathetic look, and suddenly he found himself blurting out the entire story of what had happened, mildly surprised at how easy it was to tell her._

 _(But then again it wasn't as if he had dozens of friends, and he couldn't exactly tell David, and could hardly imagine himself repeating this story to Leroy)._

"… _and she just bloody left." He finished. "And I haven't a single clue as to how to fix this. I don't even know what made her so angry."_

" _Well," Belle began. "I do know that objects such as keys or a drawer are not simply what they are." When he fixed her with a raised eyebrow, she continued. "I mean yes, a key is a key, but it's about what they represent."_

 _Before she could explain further, he'd already figured out her meaning. "A commitment."_

 _She nodded. "And the fact that Emma seems reluctant to exchange that with you suggests-"_

" _I know." He interrupted. "I know." He sighed. "I've always been so careful not to push her into doing things she isn't comfortable with."_

" _It wasn't your fault. You didn't know. And perhaps this was an especially sensitive topic for her." Belle added._

" _How am I supposed to avoid this in the future if she isn't so keen on sharing everything?"_

" _Hmm." Belle paused as she considered this. "I'm not too sure. But I think Rumple may be able to help." Before he knew it, she had dragged him onto his feet and began to lead him out of the library._

 _Rumplestilskin? As he followed Belle outside, he was filled with doubt. How could his longtime enemy help him with this?_

 _But desperation lead one to do the unthinkable, he figured._

* * *

Should she go through with it? Every instinct in her was telling her to run, run as fast as she could. Her fingers were itching to reach for keys and just drive. She could be in any random city by sundown, where she could start her new anonymous life.

But it wasn't like she could just drop everything and run as she had done so many times before. She had a family now. A kid who depended on her, and parents who would do anything for her. The thought of leaving them behind? Well she didn't think she could make herself cry on the spot. Guess she'd been wrong.

Besides, if she left it would mean _he'd_ win. And if there was one thing Emma hated, it was to admit defeat.

She leaned back in her chair and twirled her pen between her fingers. _Yes, this is just another game._ She mused to herself. _Just another dirtbag I need to outsmart._

Except that it wasn't.

 **Author's note: A hotel room?! What could that mean?**

 **More reviews=faster updates!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: My God I know it's been a long time since I've updated this story! A little something called life got in the way, aka school, work, etc. Just found this chapter on my comp and hopefully it'll inspire me to continue writing this!**

Chapter 4

"I think I'm gonna throw up."

Emma fingered the delicate silver necklace fastened around her neck as she spoke, running her finger over the bumpy chain as she had developed a habit of doing. It did little to calm her down.

"Relax." Mary Margaret said soothingly. She, along with Ruby, was simultaneously curling and pinning up sections of Emma's hair as she sat in front of a large vanity.

"No, not like this." Ruby said as she made a grab for some of Emma's hair, tugging it out of Mary Margaret's grasp. "Curl it like this. It'll look better."

"No, I really think it should be the other way." Mary Margaret protested.

"Guys." Emma started.

But neither of them seemed to pay her any attention. "Look I've been doing my hair like this for ages." Ruby argued. "Whereas you have short hair."

"Well I didn't always." Mary Margaret countered.

Regina spoke up from the corner of the room, where she'd been waiting to do Emma's makeup. "Yes, because you had so much time to do your hair while on the run."

"Yes, but I was a princess and-"

The nausea was rising, filling up inside, threatening to bubble up and out. "Guys!"

Regina clapped twice, loud and staccato. "E-nough." She stood up and strode over to where Mary Margaret and Ruby stood. "Clearly neither of you two _children_ are fit for this. Look at poor Ms. Swan. Her face is growing greener by the second, looking far too much like my _dear_ sister, and you are not helping."

"But-"

" _I_ will take it from here." Regina said, snatching the curling iron from Ruby's hand. "Unless you want her to throw up over that dress."

"Of course not." Mary Margaret sounded horrified at the prospect.

"Good." Emma could see from the mirror that Regina was smiling smugly. "Then go sit over there."

"We're not children." Ruby grumbled, but she did as told.

Regina only raised an eyebrow before turning her attention back to Emma's hair. "I'll beg to differ."

With Regina doing her hair, the room much was much more silent, mainly the sounds of the various hair tools that were being used filling the air; this gave Emma nothing to focus on except for her own rambling thoughts.

"Well don't look too happy or anything." Regina said as she stood back to admire her work. "I'm good, but without at least a neutral expression I might as well have done your hair and makeup in the dark." Sensing no response, she snapped her fingers in front of Emma's face. "Hello!"

Emma jumped slightly. "What?" She sounded irritated.

"Smile!"

Emma thought this was a bit thick, coming from someone who used to be known for her first class scowl. She tried and failed to rearrange her lips, managing only a weak half smile.

"Better." Regina's gaze softened as she dusted a bit of powder over Emma's face. "But only slightly." She and Ruby left to go and change, leaving Mary Margaret and Emma in the room.

"Nervous?" Mary Margaret teased.

"No." Emma gulped. "Why would you think that?"

Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's perfectly natural to be scared. In fact, the day before my wedding I thought about running away into the forest again. Seemed a lot faster."

"Also because Regina was after you."

"Well yes, I do suppose there was that." Mary Margaret laughed. "But you want to know what stopped me?"

"What?"

"The thought of being alone again. I was so scared that I completely forgot about what I'd be gaining."

"Yeah?"

"A family." Mary Margaret finished. "That I'd never have to be alone again, that I'd always have somebody by my side. And I knew that whatever happened, there was no way I'd ever give up what I'd gained. When I walked down that aisle, I'd known I'd made the right choice." She smiled briefly at the memory. "Now, your situation was not the same as mine, thank goodness. But just like the lonely girl who'd lived in the forest for so long, you deserve that same chance for happiness."

Emma stared at her mother as she listened to her. Everything she was saying-Mary Margaret had idea that Killian was hiding so many secrets. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

She opened her mouth, ready to spill everything, to tell her about the mysterious napkin with the random pattern of dates, the secret outings, and the meet up at Granny's. "I-"

"Yes?" Her mother repeated. Her face was so eager, her eyes wide and sincere.

 _I can tell her. I_ should _tell her. She'd understand. She'd know what to do._ "I, um, I…" But the words were stuck in her throat, unable to push themselves past the tall gate of her mouth. "I'm glad you're here." She finished lamely.

"Oh, sweetheart." Mary Margaret reached out and hugged her, all the while mindful of the beautiful white dress that had taken so much time to find. "Me too."

 _I can't tell her._ Emma realized as she sat stiffly. _Look at how happy she is. It would break her heart._

* * *

Killian tugged at the neck of his shirt, frowning as he stared down at it. "Tell me again why I have to wear this bloody thing."

"It's called a tie." David fixed his own tie as he spoke. "And you're supposed to; it's tradition."

"Well, nothing about Emma's and my courtship would be considered traditional, so I really don't see-"

"Because you have to." David interrupted, grimacing at everything the pirate was hinting at. "And quit messing with it." He reached out to straighten Killian's tie. "Don't worry. You still look as _devishly handsome_ as always."

Killian struck a pose and raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror. "You think so, mate?"

But despite his light tone, his stomach was winding itself into rather complicated notes, while he thought he was about to be sick. Normally he would've had a sip (or five) of rum to calm himself, but the mere thought of imbibing anything was enough to cause tremors in his hand.

As David shrugged on his jacket, Killian's thoughts wandered to the now very wrinkled napkin left behind in his jacket at home. If things went according to plan, by the end of this day all of his efforts would pay off.

Almost as if he sensed Killian's apprehension, David placed a hand on his shoulder. "Stop worrying."

How could he, though? As he stared into the face of the man he now considered one of his very best friends, he wondered idly if his mate would continue to act this way towards him if Emma reacted badly today.

* * *

" _In order to understand Ms. Swan, you must understand all of the circumstances that have created the woman she is today." The Crocodile limped into the back area of his shop as he spoke, the volume of his voice rising to adjust for the distance between them._

" _Enough with the riddles. What the bloody hell does that mean?" Killian interjected rudely._

 _Rumplestilskin shot him an irritated look, but continued, returning with a large vial of bright red liquid. "It means,_ pirate _, that you need to understand everything your girlfriend has been through." He plunked the bottle down on the counter._

" _I don't get it. I already know about Emma's past."_

" _Yes, everything she's told you."_

" _Emma's told me everything." He insisted._

" _As much as you would like to believe that, you and I both know that's not true." Rumple said impatiently. "One can never fully comprehend another's actions until one has experienced everything the other has. This potion will allow you to do so."_

" _How?"_

" _Simply add a stand of Ms. Swan's hair, mix, and drink."_

" _Just like that?"_

" _Not exactly. You must focus on the one who's mind you wish to probe into. Focus on seeing the experience you believe is pertinent."_

 _Killian nodded. He reached out for the vial, but then retracted his home. "Oh, I know you Crocodile, far too much for my liking. Name your price."_

" _No price." Rumple said, somewhat reluctantly. "Consider this a-thank you for all you've done for Belle."_

 _Well, if the Crocodile wasn't going to demand anything, he was going to get the hell out of here. Killian pocketed the vial and turned to go._

" _Wait."_

 _He turned around. "What? Changed your mind?"_

" _No, but you might want to. As I have always said before, all magic comes with a price. This is no exception. This potion will allow you to see into Ms. Swan's head, but it also holds a strong, very powerful consequence that many would wish to avoid."_

 _But Killian had heard enough. Without another word, he nodded shortly and pushed open the door to the shop._

 _A strong, powerful consequence. He was certain that his recent fight with Emma had been the price; he had nothing to lose, then._


End file.
